"Oh do I? It is likely the tea." he said as he resumed his hold against the mug and then to illustrate it-- he raised it up. "Still a bit of warmth there clinging to to the drink."

Did he feel the slight jolt of awareness at the fleeting touch, like fingers that wanted to cling and hold onto the moment before it became a shadowed memory of the past? Of course he had felt it and it reverberated strongly, that pull once again evidencing itself. It was a slow honey-like sinful feeling, only honey would feel this good-- the whisper of temptation.

If he was being honest, he could have twisted the feeling and poured it right into his tea. But it would've been too indulgent and he.. he could not allow that, could he. Best to play it off as if it had not attempted to rewrite his entire world, with the focus and center being a pair of mesmerizing dark eyes. "Have you ever heard the story of the One-Winged Angel? Perhaps I will tell you one day.. on one of our walks."